


Spintarella

by Burning_Nightingale



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Corruption, M/M, Police Procedural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-19 00:25:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5949073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Burning_Nightingale/pseuds/Burning_Nightingale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Morgoth's penchant for dirty business dealings and gang violence causes headaches for DI Maedhros Fëanorian on a regular, almost daily basis. </p><p>And then he gets the phone call.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spintarella

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LuxaLucifer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuxaLucifer/gifts).



> My request for this fic: 
> 
> **Rating up to =** NC-17  
>  **Requested pairing =** Maedhros/Fingon or Elrond/Gil-galad  
>  **Story elements =** modern au, some kind of angst  
>  **Do NOT include =** n/a
> 
> Any mistakes in the law/police procedure are _definitely_ due to the fact that they're elf detectives, and not that my research was mostly watching CSI re-runs....(xD)
> 
> Without further ado, I hope you like the fic!

Maedhros was working late when the call came through.

“Sir?”

He looked up at Nellan, one of the detectives from the organised crime office down the hall, who was leaning through his doorway with a worried expression on his face. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m on phone duty tonight. We just got a call from the hospital; they just got a DOA, and the guy who brought him in claims it was a homicide.”

 _Great. Just what I need right at this moment._ “Fine, tell them I’ll get a team down there right away,” he said.

Nellan bit his lip. “It’s worse than that, sir,” he said in a small voice. “The victim…it’s your uncle.”

/

Maedhros wasn’t surprised to see Curufin waiting at the reception when he arrived. “Did they already make contact with the others?” he asked, by way of greeting.

“Fingon and Turgon should be here any minute,” Curufin said, his face sombre. Neither of them acknowledged it, but they both knew how Curufin knew; one of his ‘contacts’ would have informed him the minute Fingolfin arrived.

“Alright. I have to run the investigation, so I can’t identify the body. You-”

“I’m not staying,” Curufin interrupted him. “I just wanted to make sure there was someone here.”

Maedhros sighed. “You told me you were on good terms with them.”

“I am. But they’ll ask questions if they know I got here first.” _Unlike you_ goes unspoken.

He has a point, though. “Fine. Get going. I’ll call you later.” Without another word Curufin disappears, and Maedhros approaches the reception desk. “Excuse me,” he asks the nurse on duty, “Is the man who brought the DOA in still here?”

She shook her head. “He took off as soon as we pronounced the patient dead,” she said apologetically. “I’m sorry, officer, he didn’t leave any details. Usually we ask for a form to be filled out, but what with the commotion…”

“No, I understand.” He’ll have to pull the security tapes, then. Hopefully they’ll be able to get a clean shot. Maedhros dredged up a smile for the nurse. “Thank you for your time.”

On the other side of the atrium, Mablung was waiting for him. “They’ve already transferred him to the morgue,” he said quietly. “They told me the other guy ran. I’m sorry,” he added, genuine concern in his voice. Then, quieter, he asked, “Do you think they’ll let you keep this case? Seeing as he was your uncle?”

That was Mablung; always straight to the heart of the matter. “I don’t know,” Maedhros answered honestly. “Protocol would probably say no, but it’s the commissioner’s choice. A high profile case like this, he might decide to circumvent the rules a little.”

Mablung opened his mouth to say something else, but Maedhros caught movement in the corner of his eye and turned. Fingon and Turgon had just entered through the hospital’s large main doors; Fingon had obviously already spotted him, because he was making a beeline for them. Maedhros steeled himself; he dealt with a lot of grieving victims, but having them be his cousins was not something he looked forward to.

Fingon seemed remarkably composed when he reached them. “Maitimo,” he said quietly, “I’m glad you’re here.”

Turgon stood beside him and folded his arms, stony-faced. “Where is he?” he asked, voice clipped.

Maedhros nodded toward the front desk. “They’ve already moved him to the morgue. I’m going to have to ask you to officially identify the body.”

They both nodded stiffly, and Maedhros led them back over to the reception desk so the receptionist could grant them access to the morgue. They followed one of the staff through a maze of corridors to the bottom level of the building, and through a set of security doors into a large room chilly from the blast of the air conditioning. One of the techs led them over to the body, laid out neatly on one of the slabs under a large white sheet.

Fingolfin didn’t look good, even for dead. The marks were fading, but he’d clearly been in a serious fight before he died; Maedhros had the sinking feeling there would be more gruesome injuries underneath the pristine white fabric.

Fingon and Turgon looked for a long time, not saying anything. The morgue attendant told them to sign the forms when they were ready, and then left them alone, tactfully retreating to the office on the other side of the room. Mablung followed his example, going to stand over by the entrance.

After a long few minutes, Fingon asked quietly, “What happens now?”

“They’ll have to do an autopsy, to confirm whether it was homicide or not,” Maedhros replied, his voice just as low. “Then they’ll release the body. Meanwhile, I’ll start the investigation.”

“They’ll let you take the case?” Turgon asked bluntly.

“I hope so.”

Fingon turned away abruptly. “I’ve seen enough. Where are those forms?”

Maedhros picked them up from the table, reigning in the urge to sigh.

He got the feeling this case was going to be a bad one.

/

He finally made it home at two, by which point he was quite ready to collapse and forget about everything for a few hours.

Maglor’s expression when he greeted him in the corridor, however, said clearly that that wouldn’t be possible just yet.

“Why are you still up?” Maedhros asked cautiously, toeing off his shoes.

“We have a visitor,” Maglor said, not sounding particularly happy about it.

“Did you hear-”

“Curufin called.”

“Right.” Maedhros dragged in a deep breath, then rounded the corner into the living room.

The tall, striking man waiting on the sofa was about the last person Maedhros expected to see. “Thorondor?” he asked incredulously.

The man who once helped him escape from Bauglir Inc.’s clutches rose serenely, moving with that certain sense of gravitas he always seemed to possess. His clothes were ruffled, his shirt was hideously bloodstained, but he still managed to project an aura of dignity. “I couldn’t wait at the hospital,” he said, coming over to shake Maedhros’ hand. “Too risky. It is never wise to underestimate Bauglir and his cronies, as well you know.”

 _Too well_. Maedhros firmly pushed the memories aside. “You brought Uncle Fingolfin to the hospital?”

“Yes.” Thorondor stared at him seriously. “From Angband.”

The very word shocked Maedhros into silence for a moment. “ _Angband_?” he repeated, disbelieving. “What on earth were you- was _Fingolfin_ doing there?”

“It was a challenge.” Thorondor sighed heavily. “Everything went wrong.”

Maedhros held up his hands. “I want to hear, but if you’re willing, you should really give a statement.”

“Yes. Whatever the consequences, I am prepared,” Thorondor said seriously.

Again, Maedhros couldn’t help but admire his bravery. Witnesses to crimes committed by anyone associated with Bauglir conveniently ‘disappeared’ on a regular basis; there was no way Thorondor didn’t know that. “Thank you,” he said, with feeling.

Thorondor nodded. “With that, I will let you get your rest. This must have been a long night.” He cast a look at Maglor. “I’m sorry we argued,” he said, referring to whatever must have happened before Maedhros arrived.

Maglor made a ‘forget it’ hand gesture. “Just knock on the door next time.”

Thorondor nodded, said, “I’m sorry for your loss,” and was gone through the door as suddenly as he’d appeared.

Into the silence that followed, Maedhros said, “Knock next time?”

Maglor scowled. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

/

Fingon called the next morning, just after Maedhros got into work.

“We’ve told everyone who needs to know,” he said, his voice a little thick. “The board will be taking a vote tomorrow afternoon. It’s going to be me, I’m almost certain.”

Maedhros held in a sigh. CEO of Nolodorin Industries was more Turgon’s dream than Fingon’s, but propriety would win the day, no doubt. “I’m sorry, Finno. This is…” He trails off, unsure what to say. It’s an odd feeling while talking to Fingon. “I’m sorry we didn’t talk last night,” he eventually sighed, avoiding the real issue.

“Later,” Fingon promised, “I’ve got a lot to do. And a lot to…sort out.”

“I have a lead,” Maedhros said, even though he wasn’t really supposed to divulge that sort of detail to anyone outside the case. _Already breaking the rules. This is why they don’t put family on the same cases._ “I can’t tell you any more but…I’ve got something.”

“Good.” There was the sound of a door opening and closing on Fingon’s end of the line. “What? Yes, alright – look, I have to go. Just…”

“I’ll see you when I have time,” Maedhros promised, then ended the call.

Thorondor appeared half an hour later, looking pristine and determined. He steepled his fingers together as Maedhros sat down across the interview table from him, and clicked the tape recorder on.

After the official introduction, Maedhros asked, “Now, in the fullest detail possible, can you please describe the events that led to the death of the victim.”

Thorondor took a deep breath, and began.

“I received a call from a friend at around ten pm that evening. He said he’d heard a commotion, most likely a fight, going on behind the walls of Angband.” Thorondor didn’t need to tell Maedhros where that was, but for the tape, he had to ask. “The private residence – palace, you might say – of Morgoth Bauglir, CEO of Bauglir Inc.” Thorondor sounded like he had a bad taste in his mouth as he said it.

“And who was your friend?” Maedhros asked.

“Gwinir, an acquaintance of mine who is frequently in the area. He’s a lawyer, you see. People in that part of town tend to be involved in activities that necessitate representation.”

“Right. Please, continue.”

“Gwinir made it sound serious, so I decided to take a look for myself.”

“So you broke into Bauglir’s estate?” Maedhros asked dubiously.

Thorondor looked slightly uncomfortable. “Well, I climbed over the wall. There’s a large drive up to the main entrance, and a large circle of paving out the front where they park cars. I saw several people gathered here. When I got closer, I could see Morgoth Bauglir himself, and he appeared to be in combat with Fingolfin.”

“What happened after that?”

“I moved to intervene, but before I could do anything Morgoth got the upper hand and threw Fingolfin to the ground, and delivered several stab wounds to the torso. He also appeared to be crushing his throat when I broke through the circle of thugs around him. Fingolfin managed to stab him in the foot, and in the ensuing confusion I stole one of the cars and we got away. I drove to the first closest hospital I could think of.” Thorondor sighed. “Not close enough, as it turned out.”

Maedhros asked more questions, ascertaining beyond doubt the sequence of events and pulling out every detail of what Thorondor did and saw, then thanked him for his time and sent him on his way.

When he got back to his desk, a note was waiting. His heart sank as he read it.

The police commissioner’s office was nicely appointed, with a good view out over the city. Thingol sat with his back to it, staring seriously at Maedhros over the desk in between them. “I’m sure you know what this is about,” he started.

“You’re taking me off the case,” Maedhros said, trying not to sound as disappointed as he felt.

“I would be, if we had the case,” Thingol said with a heavy sigh. “But since, according to the statement you have so diligently collected, the murder was committed in the Anfauglith precinct, I’m afraid we have to hand it over to them.”

Maedhros barely managed to hold back a snort of disgust. “Well, there goes the case, then.”

“Yes.” Thingol knew as well as Maedhros did that the Anfauglith police department were practically on Morgoth’s payroll. “I’m sorry, detective. I know he was your uncle, and he was a good man. But rules are rules.”

“Yes, sir.” Maedhros couldn’t imagine how he was going to tell Fingon and the others. “Do you mind if I…”

“Go ahead.”

/

Fingon could obviously tell from his expression that something had gone horribly wrong the moment he stepped into the room. “That bad, huh?” he asked, trying to sound light.

“Case has been handed over to the Anfauglith department,” Maedhros said, his heart heavy.

Fingon covered his face with his hands. “We’ll never…he’ll just get away with it, won’t he?”

Maedhros came over and put his hands on Fingon’s shoulders. “I’m sorry, Fingon. If I could…”

“No, I…I understand.” Fingon shook his head. “What I don’t understand is, what was he _doing_ there? What did he hope to achieve, going up against Morgoth all by himself?”

“I don’t know,” Maedhros said quietly. “Thorondor only got there right at the end…”

“Well, we owe it to him that we at least have his body,” Fingon said, wiping his eyes. “If he hadn’t…I don’t like to think…”

“Don’t,” Maedhros advised, “It’ll only make things worse.”

They didn’t speak for a minute; Fingon picked at a loose thread on Maedhros’ shirt, while he thought about who was going to handle the funeral arrangements. Turgon, probably.

“Will you stay?” Fingon asked quietly, after their moment of silence.

Maedhros pulled him close. “Always,” he murmured into his hair.

/

With an appropriate sense of pathetic fallacy, it was raining quite heavily when they pulled up at the churchyard.

A large crowd had turned out to pay their respects to Nolodorin Industries late CEO. Maedhros led his brothers in the middle of the group, just behind Fingon and his side of the family, just in front of Finrod and Galadriel and theirs. It was almost strange to see everyone gathered together again, after they’d all spent so long apart; he only wished it were under better circumstances.

After all the words had been said and Fingolfin had been laid to rest, the crowd dispersed, with some people leaving to go back to their lives while others made their way to cars which would take them to the remembrance gathering that was being held at Fingon’s family home. Fingon lagged behind, waiting by his father’s grave until everyone but Maedhros had left him be.

“They took the vote,” he said, as Maedhros came to stand beside him. “You’re talking to the new CEO of Nolodorin.”

“I’m sorry. I know that isn’t what you wanted.”

“I’ll do my best.” Fingon looked up into the watery sky. “Eru knows, we need it. We _really_ need something to go our way for once.”

“I know. But you can’t give up.”

Fingon’s mouth twitched slightly. “Come on, Maitimo,” he said, reaching out a hand and squeezing Maedhros’ arm. “Who ever said anything about giving up?”

Maedhros laughed. “You always were stubborn.”

“Always will be,” Fingon promised. Then he sighed, looking in the direction the mourners had departed. “We’d best not dally too long. You know what our families are like. We’re lucky there wasn’t a brawl over the coffin.”

“They wouldn’t,” Maedhros said, though he was only half confident of that himself.

“Oh, they would,” Fingon said, though without his usual joking tone the statement sounded very defeated. He linked his arm through Maedhros’ and began walking. “Still,” he said, as they began to make their way down the hill, “We can enjoy a moment of peace and quiet. If only for a moment.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> 'Spintarella' seems to be generally translated as "a little push" (though I have seen "helping hand") - but basically it's an Italian slang term for a bribe. (I was also tempted to call this fic 'kuroi kiri', which means "black mist" in Japanese - a very poetic term for corruption!)
> 
> (I was also so tempted to call this fic CSI: Beleriand. So. Tempted.)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
